


How To Get Away With Preschool

by sconesandtextingandmurder



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Best Friends, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Keating Five, Kid Fic, Preschool AU, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3464180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder/pseuds/sconesandtextingandmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a new little boy in Mrs. Keating's four year old classroom.  He had dark hair, wore glasses and was twisting his hands in the light blue blanket he held to his chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How To Get Away With Preschool

**Author's Note:**

> This is all [iamkevinfreakingsolo's](iamkevinfreakingsolo.tumblr.com) fault.

On the first day of October, the four year olds in Mrs. Keating’s class came tearing noisily into their classroom as they did every morning.  But an unusual silence came over them at the sight of their teacher crouched down talking to a boy none of them had seen before.  Their shouts changing to whispers, they stared at the new child as they hung up their coats and put their lunchboxes in their cubbies.  They watched as the little boy hugged his mother goodbye and then stood awkward and alone while Mrs. Keating greeted the class and instructed them to take their places on the rug for circle time. 

Once they were settled (“Miss Keating, Asher stepped on my foot and these are _brand new_ shoes,” Michaela wailed, holding up the affected sparkly, silver-shod foot), their teacher motioned the new little boy to come closer. He had dark hair, wore glasses and was twisting his hands in the light blue blanket he held to his chest.

“As I’m sure you’ve all noticed, we are lucky to have a new friend joining our class.  This is Oliver and he just moved here. “ Mrs. Keating looked slowly around, making sure all eyes were on her.  “I trust that we will all work to make him feel welcome.”

Mrs. Keating nodded at Oliver who gathered his blanket a little closer as he sat down on the edge of the rug next to Wes.

At free choice time, Michaela volunteered to show Oliver their classroom.  She toured him through the block area, the art area, housekeeping and dress up. She showed him the bathroom and the hand-washing sink and demonstrated how the little water fountain worked. Oliver followed her around obediently, saved from having to say much while she kept up a running commentary about the room and its occupants. 

“That’s Laurel.  I _tried_ to get her to play princesses with me, but she’d rather play blocks with Wes.”  Laurel glared at Michaela, but Wes smiled at Oliver as he stacked up five wooden blocks. 

“Go!” Wes said to Laurel who karate-kicked them over. Wes clapped his hands and he and Laurel picked them up to stack them again. 

A boy in a football jersey ran up to them. “I’m Asher.  Who’s your favorite team?” 

Before Oliver could answer, Michaela put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes.  “Asher! I’m in the middle of something here.”

Asher pointed to his bright yellow jersey. “I like the Steelers. Everybody thinks I should like the Eagles, since we live in Philadelphia, but the Steelers are way better.”

Michaela took Oliver by the arm and led him over to the book area.  “This is the book area,” she said with a dramatic flourish.  Then she put on a bored tone.  “And that’s Connor.”  She leaned in to stage-whisper to Oliver.  “He wears that black hoodie _every day_.”

Oliver looked at Connor who had his hood up and his sleeves pulled down over his hands as he looked through a book about reptiles.   He took a step closer, then knelt down next to Connor and pointed at a picture in the book. 

“That’s a chameleon.  My cousin has one for a pet.  It eats crickets.”  Oliver said.

Connor blinked his big brown eyes at him and scooted over a little so Oliver could sit down on the rug too.  Silently they looked at the book, page by page.

When Miss Bonnie rang the bell to indicate free time was over, Connor carefully replaced the book on the shelf and they both stood up. 

“Playground,” Connor said softly, hugging his arms across his chest.  Oliver followed him out of the reading corner. 

At the door, Mrs. Keating stopped them, kneeling down in front of Oliver.  “Hey, Oliver,” she said, “What would you say to putting your blanket in your cubby for a bit while you play outside?”

Oliver shook his head no.

"Well, you let me know if you change your mind, okay?” Mrs. Keating held the door open for both boys and they stepped outside into the weak October sun. All around them children ran and yelled.   Oliver saw Laurel and Wes side by side on swings and Michaela standing at the top of the slide yelling things down to the children gathered at the bottom.  A gust of wind caught her tutu skirt making it ruffle and billow.

Hugging his blanket a little closer, Oliver watched as Connor stood by the wall of the school, his sleeves still pulled over his hands.  Oliver edged a little closer.  It was warmer there, the concrete of the wall having absorbed the morning sun. Together they watched their classmates until Connor ventured a few steps forward.  “C’mon,” he said to Oliver.

Connor walked over to the hopscotch squares painted on the cement.  Standing on the square marked one, he hopped and jumped until he reached ten.  Then he stopped and looked at Oliver.  “Your turn.”

Oliver copied Connor’s movements, then got back in line behind him.  This time Connor did the whole thing on his right foot.  Oliver did, too.  Then they tried left foot, then backwards.  Soon both boys were laughing, red-faced from the exertion.  No hands were needed for jumping so Oliver was able to keep hold of his blanket while Connor’s hands stayed safely tucked in his sleeves until Oliver lost his balance while jumping backwards.  Then Connor uncovered one hand and reached to pull him up by his arm. 

They jumped until it was time to go back inside. Oliver followed Connor to hand-washing (carefully putting his blanket on the floor next to the sink) and then to the cubbies to get his lunchbox.  He hesitated there until Connor pulled an extra chair over to his table and waved him over. 

 *

By the third day, Oliver was willing to put his blanket in the cubby for part of the day and, by the second week, he carried it into class but promptly tucked it away in his ninja turtle backpack. But sometimes, when he thought about his old house with his yellow-painted room and the big tree right outside his window and his cousin with the chameleon that used to live four blocks away, he would go and carefully unzip his backpack to take it out and cradle it for a bit, burying his face in the familiar smell. 

One time, as he stood there by the cubbies, Asher approached him.  “Oliver!” he yelled, (Mrs. Keating said Asher only had one volume) “blankets are for babies!” With that, he grabbed the blanket from Oliver, smooshed it up, tucked it under his arm, and ran across the classroom with it.  When he got to the far wall, he held up the other arm in celebration.  “Touchdown Steelers!”

Oliver stood rooted in place, too upset to reclaim his prized possession.  Suddenly he saw a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye.  Connor, hood pulled up, stalked over to Asher, who was in the midst of his extensive victory dance.

“NO!”  Connor yelled, so loudly that the whole class went silent and turned to watch. Oliver was pretty sure half the class didn’t even know Connor could talk, much less yell.  As they watched, Connor used both hands to yank the blanket free, then turned on his heel to march back and present it to Oliver.

“Thank you,” Oliver whispered. Connor ducked his chin and smiled.

 *

After that, Connor and Oliver were best friends. They played together, sat together at lunch, and even put their nap mats next to each other.  Only sometimes did Mrs. Keating have to separate them at circle time when they spent more time whispering than paying attention. Oliver didn’t like when that happened, but he made sure to sit up straighter and listen to the teacher, while stealing looks at Connor who sulked from his spot on the other side of the rug.

One day in mid-November, when rest time was over, Miss Bonnie turned on the light in the nap room and instructed the class to put away their mats and get ready for table work.  That was how every afternoon went at the preschool: rest time, table work, snack, free choice time, afternoon circle time, then playground.

Oliver put his mat away on the shelf then went to his usual chair for table work.  Today, each child had a large construction paper number nine to decorate with crayons and bits and pieces from the collage bin.  Oliver had his nine outlined in green crayon when he realized that Connor’s chair was still empty.  He looked around the classroom, but his friend was nowhere to be seen.

Climbing down from his chair, he went back to the nap room.  Sure enough, Connor was there, still lying on his mat.  Was Connor asleep?  Almost nobody actually slept at rest time. 

Oliver walked slowly over to him. From this close, he could see that Connor’s eyes were closed and his thumb was in his mouth. “Connor?”  Oliver said.  “Rest time is done.”

Connor opened his eyes and burst into tears. “My head hurts,” he wailed around his thumb. 

Oliver felt his heart pounding in his chest. “I’ll go get Mrs. Keating!” he assured his friend and ran out of the room.  Their teacher was walking from table group to table group checking work, and she stared at Oliver in surprise when he ran up to her. “Mrs. Keating! Something’s wrong with Connor.”

Mrs. Keating looked at Miss Bonnie, who told the class to stay in their seats and finish their work.  Mrs. Keating followed Oliver back to the nap area. Connor still lay there crying. The teacher bent down and placed a hand on Connor’s forehead.  “Oh honey, you’re burning up.  Let’s get you out where I can keep an eye on you while I call your mom.”  She scooped Connor up.

“I’ll bring his mat,” Oliver volunteered and he carried it in front of him, the toes of his shoes kicking at it with every step.

Mrs. Keating indicated a space by her desk and Oliver laid the mat on the floor.  “Can I set you down while I use the phone?”  Connor nodded and she gently placed him on the mat before turning to the drawer where she kept the parent forms. 

Since it was sunny out, Miss Bonnie suggested a special treat. “Let’s have a picnic snack today!”  Mrs. Keating threw her a grateful look as the children clambered into their coats and followed her outside. 

“How about you, Oliver?”

“I’m gonna stay here until Connor’s mom comes.” Oliver said and Mrs. Keating smiled at him.

“You are a good friend,” she said and picked up the phone.

Oliver sat down next to Connor, who was still sniffling.

“I’m cold,” Connor said.

“Hang on!”  Oliver said and he ran to his cubby to get his blanket out of his backpack. He covered Connor with it, tugging the edges to smooth it neatly.  Connor closed his eyes again.

Then Oliver got the reptile book from the reading corner and set it next to Connor.  Then he dug through the dinosaur bin until he found Connor’s favorite yellow diplodocus and brought it over.  Then he got the fire hat from the dress up bin. 

He looked around the room.  The snack cups were kept in a high cabinet, so he went to the housekeeping area for a plastic cup, filled it with water from the drinking fountain, and carefully carried it over to put on the floor next to the mat.  Then he remember something strange from lunchtime and checked Connor’s lunchbox .  Usually he ate everything but sure enough today Oliver found a baggie with leftover goldfish and another with one of the two Oreos Connor always ate every day.  He brought both bags over and put them down next to the cup of water. 

“That should hold Mr. Walsh until his mother gets here,” Mrs. Keating said kindly.

So Oliver sat down next to Connor. “Remember when we were bus buddies on the zoo field trip?”  Connor blinked sleepily at him. 

Oliver began singing The Wheels on the Bus. He made the motions one-handed since the other hand was busy patting Connor’s shoulder.   He made it through nine verses before the door from the playground opened and Laurel walked in to use the bathroom. Oliver temporarily abandoned his vigil to run over to her, a hand held up in warning.

“Laurel, Connor is sick.  I’m taking care of him until his mom comes.”

Laurel stood on tiptoes to peer across the room with big eyes.  “Okay,” she said, “When I go back outside, I’ll make sure nobody comes in and bothers him.”

“Thanks.  Gotta go!”  Oliver went back to sit down next to his friend.  

Seven verses of Old MacDonald Had a Farm later, Connor’s mom arrived. 

 

 


End file.
